


Proof in This Hurt

by carminnat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, 40s!Bucky, 40s!Steve, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bucky Barnes Feels, Cheating, F/M, Feels, God this is old, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War Bucky, Sad, Sorry Not Sorry, revamped from the original posted on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carminnat/pseuds/carminnat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loyalty is a common misconception, you realize now. Though it’s entirely your own (silent) piece of judgement, it was not even near difficult to miss the oh-so seldom "distracted" Bucky Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Loyalty is a common misconception, you realize now. Though it’s entirely your own (silent) piece of judgement, it was not even near difficult to miss the oh-so seldom “distracted “ Bucky Barnes.

He has always dealt with things hands-on. Never slacking unless completely drained of energy. He was never ignorant. He has always given you the necessary attention, even since you were children. Before everything that had happened, you only _dreaded_ what particular outcome would come out of his distractedness.

You consider yourself a fair player, even if none of it was ever a game to you. You can give what you receive. Bucky had given you affection. Bucky had given you care—hell, he’d even told you he loved you for the first time just a month ago. You appreciated everything he’d ever done in your relationship that lasted almost two years. You were happy. He was happy.

So what changed all that?

**XXX**

“You know, we should go back one day. You, Steve and me,” you suggested one afternoon, enjoying lunch at a local diner with Bucky. You had been fondly recalling a day well-spent in your younger years at Coney Island with him and Steve. Seated at your usual booth, you looked up at him from your plate and noticed his wandering gaze. Immediately had you followed his stare to the petite waitress tending behind the front counter with the curled brunette locks and plump, cherry red lips upturned into a flirty smirk. You narrowed your eyes, sinking your front teeth into your bottom lip. “James? You listening to me?”

At your words, he turned to you, seemingly dumbfounded. You didn’t buy it for a second. “Oh, uh. Mind repeatin’ that, doll?”

“I was thinking us three go to Coney Island again…” You frowned at him, dropping your hand from the straw of your drink onto the table. “What has been up with you lately?”

He furrowed his brows and let out a short, nervous chuckle. “I’m a little lost.”

You were near annoyed now, and perhaps that was an understatement. As made clear by the strike of fear on his face, you dropped your oblivious façade and scoffed. “Don’t think I don’t see you getting all hotsy-totsy with that girl over there whenever we’re here,” you said angrily. “I’m sure you’ll be all ears for whatever _she’s_ gotta tell you.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, Y/N!” he intervened, sporting an even more perplexed expression that you absolutely could not bring yourself to believe. You knew this man better than anyone. Another light laugh left his lips. “That gal has been ogling me since day one. Gives me the jitters. I didn’t wanna tell you because I didn’t wanna get you upset and make a fuss, all right?”

You scoffed again. Of course he would dodge the confrontation by flipping the whole reason.

“I’m not lying,” he pressed on. Then, he leaned further in, his face further softening, reaching over and grabbing your hand in his. “You know that there ain’t another woman I notice anywhere when I’m with you.”

You eyed him in distinct disbelief, but it faltered. Damn him and his charms and chivalry, you thought. You sighed, leaning forward again and squeezing his hand in return. Though uneasiness still tested you, it was your choice to shrug it off for the time being. You were overreacting; you had nothing to worry about. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

He smiled at you. “Don’t be. Now, what’s that thing you were talkin’ about?”

**XXX**

Maybe you had overreacted. Maybe you had given him too much boundaries and potentially locked him to your side for the time being.

_“She had you in chains.”_

You’ve gone over the possibilities of the entire ordeal far too many times to count, and you always found the arrow pointing directly at yourself. It stings to know that you could have stopped all of it from happening. It _kills_ you knowing if you hadn’t mucked anything up between the two of you, you could still be with him.

It was an idealistic factor that your relationship with Bucky wasn’t all any on-lookers would prexsumptuate. He wasn’t just any “gentleman caller” the girls at work had assumed he was at first. He was your best friend. You could speak to him without the hesitance to spill too much or too little. He was the one person you knew would never leave you hanging.

It was only positive supplements to it all when he’d do the little things. Send you flowers. Subconsciously take your hand in his and run his thumb over your knuckles affectionately. Brush a straying strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear…

God, why were you so _stupid?_

Why did you have to mess it up?

**XXX**

It was so strange to be paranoid over something like this. As a child, a nightmare was ghosts and monsters under your bed. But now? Betrayal was another type of terror.

It had been days since you’d last seen him. You had gone and asked Steve where Bucky was, when strangely enough the smaller man had promptly replied with “I thought he was with you…?”

No, of course not. He wasn’t with you. He had cancelled all those nights of plans with you because he had plans with Steve. Or he _said_ he had plans with Steve. Your jaw had dropped, all your worries that you’d fought to keep at bay rapidly returning. 

Immediately had Steve grabbed his coat and led you out. “I think I got an idea where he might be,” he muttered.

The joint wasn’t very far from Steve’s apartment. It was only when you’d approached closer that you recognized the place—the setting of your first date with Bucky. You swallowed hard, your fingers nervously tweaking at the wool fabric of your coat. You entered behind Steve warily, eyes wandering the crowded room and hoping you wouldn’t see Bucky anywhere around.

“Y/N?” Steve called. You turned to him. “How ‘bout we split up?”

You nodded, swallowing again, urging your feet to move as soon as Steve’s blond head disappeared into the crowd. You treaded carefully along the sides of the bar, settling in a corner and almost chuckling at your paranoia.

He wasn’t here. He would never—

“I gotta admit, Bucky,” a woman purred from behind you. “I didn’t think you’d have it in you.”

The familiar hearty chuckle. A sunken feeling in your chest. “What?”

“Ditch that girl of yours these last couple of nights,” she replied, her voice lower and pointed. “She had you in chains, that one. Didn’t think you’d manage out.”

He laughed again. “Neither did I, for that matter.” 

Your shoulders stiffened, leaning firmly against the bar top and heartbeat racing in your ears, melding in with the sound of the woman’s giggle. No. You wouldn’t turn around, but their reflections were clear and almost too broad in the untouched glass of wine perched just in front of you.

He leant into her, the petite brunette from the diner. As soon as his lips touched hers, your surroundings froze. From across the room, Steve stood, stock-still, eyes as wide as saucers as he stared at his best friend with another woman from behind you. Steve looked at you then, and you could only nod and refrain the tears in your eyes. _Yes_ , you silently answered in your head. _Yes, I know._

You turned over your shoulder, finally grasping at the fact that you couldn’t fight this. It was happening.

He held her the way he held you when you kissed. He gave her the look he always gave you when he pulled away from your lips. 

This is real. This is happening.

You hopped down from your barstool, cupping your hand over your mouth before you choked out a sob and before you were made recognizable. But perhaps it was pointless, because when you took a final glance, Bucky turned and met your eyes, his widening with realization, spreading over his entire demeanour. 

All it took was that final glance.

You stalked off immediately after that, wanting nothing more than to leave the goddamn joint before you could make a mess of yourself from the pain you refused to believe you were feeling.

But it was surreal. It was happening. And it was Bucky, of all people!

Footsteps were heard behind you. It only made sense that they belonged to Steve, but the voice calling out to you only urged you to keep going, keep walking, and run if you had to…

“Y/N!” Bucky called. “W-What are you doing here?”

God, how much did he have to drink? You kept your head forward, keeping your voice as steady as you could in spite of the tears. “I could ask you the same, James.”

He huffed from behind you, and he seemed closer than usual. He halted you in your steps, latching his fingers around your forearm. You shielded your face from him, staring off to the side. You couldn’t look at him. It was almost scary to. Bucky, of all people…

“Slow down,” he told you through that practically _merciless_ nervous laughter you were now tired of hearing. “What you saw in there—”

You harshly tugged your arm back. “Don’t. Don’t even you try lying to me again. I don’t want to hear it anymore,” you practically pleaded through the weight of the lump in your throat.

He was stunned. You could tell by his silence. But perhaps it didn't last very long, because he turned you by a grip on your wrists and the remorse on his face when he saw you for how you felt: furious, and utterly broken.

 _“Don’t touch me,”_ you ordered, breaking free of his grasp again. “I don't want you ever laying a finger on me again.”

He rubbed his knuckles carefully and ran a hand through his hair, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He looked helpless. He didn’t know what to do. Usually when he faced you like this you would pull him into your arms and ask him _What could you do to help?_ The irony of it all stung, forcing the tears to finally fall.

You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, backing away. “And to think I was overreacting, that I was in over my head…” You scoffed.

Perhaps he knew what was going to come. He was approaching you again, mindful of the distance that had to be maintain before you _hauled_ something at him. “Y/N, please—”

“…and I believed every single goddamn lie you told me—these _last couple of nights…_ ” Your repetition of the words that _she_ spoke in the bar were hissed out through gritted teeth and a crack in your voice. Then you realized, painfully. “Did you _sleep_ with her?”

“Doll…”

“Answer the question, James!”

His mouth opened and shut. He couldn’t lie anymore. He knew that. “I-I…”

Yes. Yes was his answer, despite his words. Your fists balled, your anger rose, but your brokenness stilled. You had dozens of words to say to him—to scream at him, but you just couldn’t bear to even look at him any longer. So you turned on your heel and continued in your path home.

And with that, you left him.

**XXX**

It is stupid of you to go to Steve’s tonight. You know how often he and Bucky see each other and you know how often Bucky vents to him. In a matter of two weeks had you been bottling up the pain Bucky’s unfaithfulness had given you, and in a manner of two weeks did you finally push yourself to reach out to Steve.

He listens to every word you say. He assures you over and over again that it wasn’t your fault, that you had nothing to do with it. But it’s hard to believe that. You weren’t good enough.

It’s suddenly evening. You’re about to leave when Steve suggests that you stay over for the night. So you don’t argue, what with all the crying and haunting memories only encouraging your fatigue. It turns out simple to fall asleep.

However, you are woken in the middle of the night by a conversation in the kitchen just across from where you lay on the couch. Steve is speaking, going over what you’d just told him just hours ago. A chill runs down your spine even despite of the quilt draped on your body. You wonder who the hell he might be telling this to when it dawns on you: Bucky. Had Steve called him over after Bucky got home from work and you’d fallen asleep? But then again, when you two were together, it was common that Bucky and you visit Steve.

You decide that it’s too late to fall asleep again.

“…she blames herself,” Steve says. “She thinks it’s her fault, Buck.”

It’s silent for a second. “Hell,” Bucky sighs. “No, damn it. None of it was her.”

“That’s what I told her,” Steve replies pointedly. “But she’s tough to get around to.”

It’s quiet again. You shift in your position on the couch to face the back, unwilling to let yourself cry again. But like always, it just happens.

“How do I fix this, Steve?” Bucky suddenly asks, a hitch in his voice.

For a moment, you wonder why the hell he would want to fix things when you made yourself clear that night: you couldn’t do it anymore. But you aren’t happy. You are drowning yourself in work and thoughts, but you aren’t happy.

“I don’t know,” Steve answers. “But whatever way you choose to go… Just don’t mess it up again.”

The floorboards creek under a series of footsteps and are followed by another. Steve’s bedroom door shuts, but you are caught still on the couch when someone seats himself by your feet. Then, there is reluctance lingering in the area albeit the fact that he assumes you’re sleeping. There is a tug in your chest just knowing he is there, turning over whatever he wants to say in his head.

What does he want to say? You can hardly face him upfront.

It’s then that he begins to speak. Quietly, carefully. Like he had those nights under the stars. “You know, I was just thinking about that day at Coney Island, like you mentioned before. And yeah, I’d wanna go again. It’s a lot…easier, I guess. It was a lot easier before.”

A pregnant pause. A race in your heartbeat, and oh, Christ. You’re crying again.

“I didn’t deserve you, Y/N,” Bucky murmurs. “I never did.”

You swallow, shifting your chin a tad.

“Knowing that I hurt you, knowing that you blame yourself doesn’t work well in my head. ‘Cause it was me. And I got no right to say I did nothing, ‘cause I did everything.” He sniffles. It’s strange to hear him cry; it was only ever rare to see him do so before the incident.

“Yeah, I did lie to you, but I never lied about loving you. I loved you so much. And you know what? I still do. I love you, but that can’t beat how much I miss you. Now I’m guessing they both go hand in hand.

“‘Sorry’ won’t cut it, I guess. But I am so goddamn lost, Y/N. I don’t know where to go from here. I wanna fix this. I don’t want us like this forever. I need you back. Just…please—tell me where to go, will you?”

Admittedly, you are tempted to move, to speak, but what is there to say? You don’t have words ready. He sighs again, but it’s sudden when he reaches over and brushes the loose strands of hair from your face and behind your ear.


	2. Chapter 2

You awake the next morning to Steve’s careful hand on your shoulder. He tells you that you ought to get home before you’re late for work, so you gather your belongings, thank him, kiss his cheek, and depart.

The whole venture back to your apartment has your mind wandering back to the events of the previous night. It had been so late, so abrupt… Had it really even happened? Had Bucky really said all that you are still able to process and contemplate upon? It’s a matter you cannot push so far back in your head, but it’s enough fuel to get you moving and working.

The days do go on the same way. As they do, you find it simpler to dismiss the very thought of Bucky, yet it seems as though he always finds away to wander back into mind. More especially when Steve and you arrange ample plans.

You can’t say Steve has kept quiet about the entire situation between Bucky and you. Not that you can blame him; he is caught in the middle between his two best friends. And Steve is notorious for voicing his opinion. He has never shied away from doing so in front of you.

“You know, he goes on and on about you,” he says one Saturday afternoon. “Bucky.”

You knew it was coming. It’s a tough ordeal to dodge. You purse your lips. “Quite frankly, I wish I could say that I’ve got little to no care about what he’s told you.”

“But you don’t.”

You lightly scoff. “Of course not. But none of that changes a damn thing, Steve. I know how hard it must be for you—”

“This isn’t about me, Y/N,” he urgently interrupts. “Yeah, it ain’t easy being stuck in the dead centre, but it’s no fun seeing the two people you care most about so unhappy. It’s damn near hell.”

You sit back, brows furrowed. You’ll admit now that this shook you. You have no words to speak.

Steve, clearly, knows that. “He asks me if I’d seen you lately, how you’re doing, and I’d tell him. He would’t say anything after, but God, Y/N—there isn’t anything clearer than how much he misses you.”

This is your near breaking point, but you have gone so far along without shedding a tear that it’s hard to take. You instead take a deep breath. You think about the night Bucky had spoken the words you refuse to believe you still wait to hear again. You hadn’t questioned Steve about what Bucky had said, and you certainly hadn’t faced Bucky about it.

“You want me to talk to him,” you decipher steadily.

“If it’s too much to ask.”

You shake your head. “You’re damn right it is,” you tell him. “But… I will consider it.”

Steve only smiles at you. You pray it’s the end of this discussion.

You are not entirely sure if your consideration is sworn promise. Despite the fact that you can’t deny your perplexed will to speak to Bucky, there are obstacles. Hesitance. Fear. Distrust. Fear of trust. As time treads along, the grander these obstacles become.

You return home from a long day at work with no intention for visitors whatsoever. The knocks on your door nearly startle you, but you still stand to straighten your skirts and have a look and see who it is. It’s only a mere second when you open the door and close it at the sight of Bucky standing outside.

“Wait, Y/N—” he says just as you slam the door in his face.

You rest your back flat against the door, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

He knocks on the door again. “Open up, Y/N. Please.”

You keep still.

A sigh from the other side. “Look, there are just a few things I need to say. All I’m asking is that you listen and I promise you, you’ll never have to see me again. Okay?”

But that’s not what I want. You shut your eyes in thought, hands already making grab for the lock and the doorknob. After another second, you turn and open the door once again.

You don’t dismiss the way his eyes look you up and down or the way he fumbles for his hands for a bit before shoving them in his pocket. He’s used to touching you at this point, which is strange, considering you haven’t encountered him in weeks.

“Should I come in, or—”

“I don’t think that would be very appropriate,” you blankly tell him.

“Didn’t think so.” He sighs, the wooden floorboards beneath his feet suddenly very interesting. He takes a few moments, to speak before he looks back up at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for being unfaithful to you. I’m sorry for not doing this sooner,” he starts. “It won’t probably cut it, but I—”

“You’re lost?” you continue for him. “You don’t know where to go from here?” His eyes widen with realization. “Yes, I heard you that night at Steve’s. And you’re right; apologizing won’t cut it, because I spent such a damn long time thinking that I drove you away. That I wasn’t good enough for you. It killed me for days, wondering what I could’ve done to make you stay. Whatever the real reason might be, I can’t bear it. God, I’m still thinking it was all me! I’m so ruined now, James, and the fact that I can still feel this way about you makes it all worse,” you say.

He’s silent again. The events of catching him that night replays in your head. You realize now that you were waiting for him to speak then, to tell you that it was a misunderstanding, to pour his heart out to you. Now? You are far too sick and tired to wait for anything.

“You know,” you speak up again, your voice much quieter, full of the withheld brokenness you’ve pent up for weeks on end. “It’s maybe the damnedest thing have been so sure about someone and have it all become just a delusion. ‘Cause I used to think you would be the last person to ever hurt me.”

“Y/N…”

“Well, what else have you got to say?”

He huffs. “If you heard me at all that night, you know that I—”

“That you love me?” You scoff. “‘Cause I find that pretty damn hard to believe when you were off sleeping with another woman.”

You notice the way his face slightly contorts and his teeth sinks down on his lower lip as he turns his face to the side, but it’s not hard to miss the tears. “No,” he murmurs. He turns, resting his back on the wooden porch railings, pressing his palms to his eyes. “No, damn it…”

His sudden burst creates a new gateway for you. Your tears are hard to fight now.

“You got no idea how much I love you. You got no idea how everyday I wake up hoping to hear talk to me again. When you’re with Steve, I’m wishin’ it’s me you’re smiling at. I miss, I love every damn part of you, Y/N.” His speech is broken, and it’s unlike any way he’s ever spoken to you before.

You’re left still by your door, tears on your cheeks, and by now it’s hopeless for you to hold them back. He stands up straight at the silence left hanging, turning his back to you and making for the stairs to leave.

It comes down to you then. You step forward. “James.”

He pauses and looks over his shoulder.

Your mouth falls open, and for another second you are unsure of what to say. But you know in your heart that you’re lying to yourself. So why are you hesitating? You take a deep breath. “If you love me so much, why’d you do it?”

“I was stupid. I didn’t know what I was missing,” he says. “And Y/N, I’ll tell ya, none of it was because of you.”

You fold your hands in front of you, because you still find it hard to believe. “Then tell me everything,” you say. “How it started, when it started, and if—” Your voice catches in your throat. 

He seems to have understood you, because he takes another weary step closer and shakes his head. “I don’t love her. I never did.” At this, he gestures you both down on the porch bench, and you are grateful, because you know you’d have to sit to hear the rest of it.

Her name is Margo, the waitress at the diner. It’d begun as a drunken stupor at first. After, he denied every following request of hers, but she pushed. She pushed and pushed for a week, and then he found himself stuck. 

With every word, every detail that slips from his mouth, you have to force yourself to just listen. When he tells you that he hasn’t seen her since that night at the bar, it’s silent. He’s finished and he’s told you everything. Yet you are still very unsatisfied.

“So, you keep your word and walk out and I won’t have to see you again. You don’t, and we’ll be stuck like this forever,” you say. “Either or, it won’t be simple. But you and I both know there is another option.”

He turns to face you completely. “I do, but lately I’ve been seein’ it as fantasy.”

You find this ironic, as seeing him with someone else while you were together was a nightmare. You look down. “I’ve really flipped my wig this time around, huh?” you sadly chuckle. “I go around tellin’ the girls at work that if a man ever turned his back on me for some other gal then I’d leave him and never look back.

“I wish I knew if I were makin’ a mistake to take you back,” you say, swiping at the tears on your cheeks.

He carefully leans in closer. It’s hard to miss the glint of hope in his eyes. “Y/N, there ain’t nothing I regret more than hurting you. I won’t go down that road again.”

You shake your head in spite of your will to believe him. “I don’t know if I can now. Give me time and I will let you know.”

He nods carefully. “All I got is time.”

So that he gives you. It’s not necessarily a slow process. You think it through much quicker than you had with healing. It’s no secret kept from Steve either, and he had both sides to listen on in to. But you know that everything comes back to you and your final decision. It’s tough, but it’s not hard to miss.

It’s the end of yet another long day. The sunset remains at bay and normally you’d feel stricken with fatigue, but your choice leaves anticipation bubbling within you. You know where you’re headed. Time seems to shorten as soon as you’re at his door and knocking.

He opens seconds later, his face softening at the sight of you. But before he says a word, you step forward and pull him into your arms. It takes you back, before all that happened, but keeps you stuck in the moment. This is where you are now, and for the first time in such a while, you are truly happy.


End file.
